Once was Enough
by Squirrela
Summary: Peter never expected that exploring some caves would lead to him seeing a world famous Chocolate Factory.


Once Was Enough

Peter was lost. Just thirteen, he was on a camping trip with his four older cousins in the caves a half-hour drive away from his hometown. They had been camping in the caves for three days, and his uncle was due to pick them up tomorrow morning. His parents had been cautious about letting him go along, but as he was starting to get older, and the twin cousins were seventeen now, his Mom had reluctantly agreed to let him go, warning him to be on his best behavior. This wasn't the easiest thing to do, as his other cousins were sixteen and a very recent fourteen, and they had teased him mercilessly about being the youngest.

Peter had ended up with some of the worst jobs during the time away, and had dealt with these assignments quietly enough that his oldest cousins seemed to respect him the more for it. They knew that their younger brother and sister wouldn't have taken many of the jobs so quietly. The others seemed to spend a lot of time fooling around, being a noisy group, and Peter had finally had enough of it. He had explained to the others that he was going to visit the sun-spot a few tunnels over. The route was all along the flat, and only required him to remember to duck at points: he wasn't going to need ropes to make this journey. Once he got there he could sit quietly and relax, away from the echoing shouts of the campsite.

Now he sat, but not in the sun-spot. Instead of the easy excursion he had imagined, he was lost, underground. He had been having fun exploring the caves with his cousins over the last few days, and he had thought he knew the passages well enough that this trek wasn't going to be a big risk. His cousins had agreed with him. His lone exploration had been going well until a mistaken turn resulted in his tripping on some rocky ground, and then tumbling down another steep tunnel into a stream. He was now unable to climb back up to the tunnel he fell from. Giving up after five minutes scrabbling against the soft, muddy terrain that gave way under his weight, he had been forced to continue forwards, in the hope that he might find a way out that way. At least he was able to wash the worst of the mud off his hands in the stream.

He spared a thought for his four cousins, back at the campsite, before shrugging his shoulders. They were bound to be worried, but he would get nowhere by worrying about them. They would have to fend for themselves. Peter could think about easing their concerns when he had taken care of his current problems. He was cold, muddy, and wet; he had bruised his hands and knees; and his next meal was overdue. Otherwise, he was okay, and Peter was thankful for that. A sprained ankle or, even worse, a broken leg would be impossible in this situation.

Suddenly, Peter became aware of a warm draft, coming from his right. Was he near some hot springs, perhaps? He moved over towards the draft. A sweetish smell caught his attention, as he drew nearer to the warmth. He passed his hand across the rock in front of him, and then brought his muddy hand to his nose. He smelled sugar, and... was that chocolate? Gingerly he brought his hand to his mouth, expecting to taste a nasty, muddy grittiness. Instead he was shocked, as the flavor of some of the most delicious chocolate crumbles he had ever tasted assailed his taste buds.

Suddenly ravenous, Peter crouched down and began to scoop handfuls of the gritty confection towards his mouth, in a bid to sate the worst pangs of hunger.

"No, no!" A high-pitched voice halted his mad rush. "The chocolate sprinkles are yet to be tested! You should not eat them!"

Chocolate sprinkles needing tested? What was he talking about? And who was he?

Peter looked up to see the strangest person he had seen in a long while. It would be easy to compare him to a dwarf. His skin appeared rosy in hue; his short hair seemed to have greenish tones, although it was difficult to be sure of the colors in the half-light. The outfit the chap wore was very strange. It was the way the trousers seemed to have a stick poking out at around mid-thigh that caught the attention the most.

"I shall have to ask you to come this way," the shorter person informed him.

Go with him? Well, at least that way he might be able to get warm. "Where am I?" Peter queried.

"This way please."

Apparently, for the moment at least, he wasn't going to get an answer. Peter decided it would be best to simply be quiet. Maybe he would get some answers later. The road they took had several turns, and within a few minutes, Peter couldn't tell how to retrace his steps. Eventually they reached a huge metal door. The strange-looking man went to a keypad, and pressed a few buttons. Musical notes sounded. Peter thought there might be nine buttons on the keypad, but he couldn't tell for sure, given the protective guard that surrounded the edges.

"Wait here please," the man said, before disappearing through the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Peter's jaw dropped at the abrupt end of this strange encounter. What would happen now? Peter shifted his weight from foot to foot. While being lost wasn't something he enjoyed, it was better than this helpless reliance on a stranger who was now who-knew-where! Would someone return to him? Was he going to get into trouble the next time the door opened? Was anyone watching him as he stood waiting here? He must look like such a wally!

Before he had much longer to think about this, the door opened again, and a man—he was wearing a suit—not that much older than Peter, slipped through.

"Good morning. I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Charlie Bucket, and I'm going to show you through to one of our offices, for a chat."

Closing the door behind him, the man led Peter through another dizzying array of tunnels. "Did you say you were Charlie Bucket?" Peter queried, half-running in his attempt to keep up with the young man.

Charlie glanced round, and immediately stopped, letting Peter catch up, as he answered affirmative to the question.

"Charlie Bucket? The Charlie Bucket apprenticed to Willy Wonka, owner of Wonka's Chocolate Factory, in Kingston, New York? I've never been there, my family sticks close to home, by which I mean they think anything further than an hour away is too far to go, but my friends say the Factory is lovely.

Charlie glanced at the boy. "I am that Charlie." Then he smiled, as the boy following almost tripped over his words. Curious at this unusual state of affairs, Charlie found himself giving in to the impulse to enquire. "No further than an hour's travel from home? Don't you find that limiting?"

Peter blushed. "My friends sometimes jeer at me, and tell me all about the things that I miss, but my sister isn't well, and can only take short trips. Even if she doesn't come on the journey, my parents prefer to be closer to home so that we can get back to her in a hurry, if we need to. They don't like leaving others responsible for her for too long."

Charlie smiled and moved on. This young boy missed out on a lot, and it seemed that his friends didn't make it easy for him. There was no point in rubbing it in even more. "Well, I've got news for you. You're in Kingston, now. Our underground tunnels extend for miles."

Upon hearing this Peter shook his head, in an attempt to rattle his brain into accepting this fact. Surely he hadn't heard what he thought he had? "Did you say I was in Kingston? That's impossible! Only this morning I was exploring the caves in New Haven. How can I have reached Kingston? That's over 100 miles away!"

Charlie smiled. "You'll soon learn when you work with Wonka's, that with a little imagination and hard work, anything is possible. Now, if you will walk this way, I think we shall conclude this discussion in one of our offices."

This time, Charlie set off at a more moderate pace, and Peter found it easier to keep up with him. A few more turns and the rough rock surrounds suddenly turned into a wide, smooth corridor. Peter stopped with an abruptness that caught Charlie's attention, causing him to turn. Peter was looking first to the left, and then to the right, as he tracked the changes from the dirt covered hole, and arch type structure, to the more angular, but smooth, corridor. "Eh?" he queried.

Charlie smiled to himself, as he pondered what Willy would say to this level of eloquence. "It is a little startling," he commented, knowing that the changes to the environment happened so gradually that it was difficult to see where they began. The rough patches smoothed out, then the roundness was flattened into the straight lines, the color gradually changed, and the terrain underfoot was slowly replaced by slate tiles, which were initially covered in the chocolate-mud-and-sprinkles that characterized the terrain of the tunnel, and which eventually emerged from the mud.

After another couple of minutes, Charlie gestured in the direction they had been traveling. "Shall we?"

Peter acquiesced and was soon ensconced in a seat in a warm office.

"Mr. Bucket, where am I?"

Charlie smiled again. "As I explained earlier, this is one of the underground tunnels that borders Wonka's Factory. You were found at a location at the outer edges of our cave system and brought to one of the central locations. The personnel who discovered you felt unable to explain the situation, and came to me, as he felt I was a more appropriate person to discuss the situation with you.

"Now, leaving behind the question of where's, I need to discuss the question of 'what's' with you. The young man who came to fetch me mentioned that you had tasted some of the chocolate sprinkles on the ground. Can you confirm that this is the case, and if so, how many of them did you manage to eat?"

Peter furled his brow in confusion. What did this have to do with anything? He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "I tasted the mud, because I was confused by the fact it smelled so sweet. I was amazed when I recognized the taste as chocolate, and then stunned when the quality of that chocolate hit me. Who uses such wonderful chocolate in crumbles?"

Charlie grinned. "Wonka's would use that quality of chocolate in crumbles, hmm, good name, if we iron the bugs out. Did you have any more, after tasting them?"

Peter began to chew his bottom lip in confusion. What was with the close questioning? "I was hungry, and the flavor of the chocolate had me grabbing a handful off the ground. I grabbed a couple of handfuls, but was moving so hastily I spilled most of what I picked up, rather than managing to eat much. I had just got my hand to my mouth for a third time when the chap stopped me, saying I wasn't allowed to eat them. I think I did have a little of that handful, but I dropped most of what I was holding in my surprise."

Charlie nodded at this, a thoughtful frown on his face. "It sounds like you only had a little of the Color Changing Chocolate Crumbles then," he mused. "Can I ask you to step forward a little?" He pointed to the middle of the room, and Peter, shrugging his shoulders, sighed before he stood up, and did as directed.

Charlie directed a bright flashlight at Peter's hands, with Peter surprised to see that his formerly pale skin had developed a dark tan. "Hey! I ain't no dark skin!"

Charlie raised a pointed eyebrow. "I can understand that you're surprised, sir, but please watch the descriptions you use. I know some people who would be offended at that description; or would you like being called a 'pale face'?"

Peter swallowed violently. It wasn't that he had anything against people with different skin colors to him, but despite his family's tolerance, there were people he knew who scorned such differences, and the thought of the treatment that they might mete out if they saw him looking like this made him recoil at the unexpected change.

"As you can see, the Color Changing Chocolate Crumbles work a little too well. They're supposed to be a tasty way for someone to gain a light tan for a short while. Testing has shown that it takes very little for someone to look more than tanned, and it takes far longer than we would like for the effect to neutralize. It also happens all at once. One minute your skin can be a deep chocolate color, the next, you look like you've not seen the sun in months. We're looking for a more graceful fade, a lighter tan, and a greater quantity of sprinkles to effect the change.

"The dose you seem to have experienced actually works pretty well on the Oompa-Loompas, they gain a lovely tan with that concoction. Unfortunately for you, you wandered along just in time to be product-tester for a different race, and this has proved that the mix is too strong for the Caucasian skin-type. We're going to have to dilute it some more; maybe milk will make the difference.

"Anyway, you're here for the next few days I'm afraid, until the side-effects wear off. Then we can return you from whence you came."

Peter rolled his eyes at the unusual description. "But my cousins are in the cave! They'll be wondering where I am!"

"Is that a problem?" Charlie heard his own words, and quickly amended them. He was sounding more like Willy every day. "We shall have a message sent to them. They are going to be informed that you hurt an ankle, and were fortunate to be found by a fellow spelunker, who took you home with them. Unfortunately, they are not going to be able to accept any other visitors, but they expect that you shall be safely delivered back to your family by the end of the weekend."

There was an air of finality to Charlie's tones that almost halted Peter's exclamation of horror. "But my family! I'm with a stranger they don't know!"

"It can't be helped. They'll cope. Your family will know that you are safe, relatively well, and shall be back with them soon. The less you worry about this, the quicker you shall be able to return.

"Now, I believe you are yet to give me your name. Would you mind rectifying this?"

Peter's jaw dropped, as he thought over the conversation thus far. "I guess I didn't tell you my name. I'm Peter Andrews." He took a half step forward, hand held out to be shaken. Charlie chuckled at the ingrained response, before shaking the proffered hand. Then he frowned, before looking at his own hand, which was now smeared the same color as Peter's.

"Hmmmm… either color transfer, or there's just enough residue on your hands for it to stain my hands. Come with me please."

They walked through another two corridors, before entering a large washroom. Charlie went to a large cupboard and pulled out a container of soap.

"Hold out your hands," he requested of Peter. When the other complied with the request, Charlie pumped a dollop of soap into Peter's hands. "If you could rub this into your hands and arms up to your elbows, and then put your hands under the tap. After that, you can wash as you normally would."

Peter wrinkled his nose at both the smell of the soap, and the instructions, but did as he was asked. Meanwhile, Charlie put a little of the soap onto his own hands, and proceeded to apply it as he had instructed Peter. Charlie rubbed it in for a few minutes, and then put his hands under the tap, which, when he did so, turned itself on. Peter blinked: he hadn't expected that. A thick, brown substance washed off of Charlie's hands as he rinsed. Seeing this, Peter hurried to follow, hoping that he would lose a lot of the color as well. A lesser amount of the thick brown substance did rinse off.

Charlie was examining his hands underneath a light, and muttering, as Peter came up to him. There was still a dark hue to his hands. "So there is definitely a contact element to this. That won't go down well. We need to work round that as well. Okay, then." Upon seeing Peter he smiled. "Just put your hands and arms under here, and it shall dry them for you."

Peter grimaced. His arms would be wet until he found a towel then. He was to be surprised though, as it didn't take long moving his arms around in the air before they were fully dry.

A few minutes later, after pausing to talk with one of the strange men that dotted around this part of the Factory, Charlie was whisking Peter through an array of corridors to a room with a bed, and two adjoining doors.

"This is to be your suite for the duration of your stay, Peter. The door through there leads to your bathroom, and the other leads to a sitting area. Meals shall be provided in the canteen, and I shall fetch you to show you the way at designated times. Meanwhile, you mentioned feeling hungry earlier, so I requested that someone bring a sandwich to keep you going until dinner time. That will be in a couple of hours. Have you any allergies we should be aware of?"

Allergies? With candy side-effects like these, these people worried about allergies? Peter couldn't believe it, and dumfounded, could only shake his head.

"No? Good. While you're here, you might not be able to move around much, and we do ask that you do not talk about the Color Changing Chocolate Crumbles until after they go on sale in the shops. Otherwise, we hope you enjoy your stay."

"Will I meet Mr. Wonka?"

"You never know," said Charlie, turning on his heel. "Keep your eyes peeled."

* * *

Peter had kept his eyes peeled, whatever that meant, but he had never met Mr. Wonka. The color had faded, and as promised, he had been returned to his family.

"But why weren't we allowed to see you?" they wailed as they hugged him.

Peter thought about his color, that had faded in spots, and not all at once, as expected. "My rescuer thought he might be contagious with something and didn't want to take a chance that he'd pass it on."

"He might have passed it on to you!"

"But he wasn't contagious, so he didn't. It was a precaution, Mom."

His mother, vowing never to let him out of her sight again, left it at that. Shrugging his shoulders, Peter sighed.

Later, looking back on his time at the Factory in the weeks to come, Peter shook his head. He hadn't told anyone the real story. What was the point? No one would have believed him if he had attempted to tell them about it, anyway. As it was, he, himself, hardly believed it. Still, it would be fun to tell it as a story when those chocolatey confections finally began to sell. After all, he had had a part in naming them. Would anyone believe him then? No way. What about going back to the Factory? Peter thought about that a little longer, but he shook his head. He'd seen too many side-effects going on in that place of wonder, and that meant, wonder that it was, for Peter, once was definitely enough!

* * *

The End

* * *

AN: This oneshot was crafted over a number of months, including several which acted as percolation space for the ideas to infuse. i am due my thanks to the friend who ensured that American characters didn't fall too far into Brit-speak. Why Kingston? A pin in a map, mostly, although I did research enough to know that the area does have abandoned factories, and could easily still have working ones. They also have caves in the area, although I am not sure how many are yet to be explored. As far as getting from New Haven to Kingston on foot is concerned, well, the 100 miles is by road, not as the crow flies, and in a Factory where one can travel to Minus Land without anyone batting an eye, travelling further than expected on foot barely rates a mention.

As with my other stories, if you recognise it from elsewhere, it probably doesn't belong to me.


End file.
